“I pretty much shot my wad already on the blog today, so… can we talk about shoes?”
I snort a laugh into my mango salad and settle in for a bit of unwinding. And listening. Simultaneously, I hear suggestive talk involving cheese wiz, a discussion on the esoteric nature of Napoleon Dynamite, and the requisite blah blah Stuart blah.
And so goes Gate Night.
Over the course of an hour or so, our party of three grows to twelve – can you scooch over a tad? Kisses are exchanged and beer runs made as cameras dart about capturing proof of half-drunk pale ales, a leaf that sort of resembles a leaping squirrel, and folks with their mouths full of food. I’m the subject of the third category of photography and I learn very quickly how to use the delete function on all models of digital cams.
My level of insecurity triples in as much times as it takes me to scroll through the night’s images. I don’t like to see pictures of myself. I much prefer the idea of me that’s in my head. It’s better put together, more stylish, more svelte and frankly, it has a much better nose.
Maybe even a more interesting life.
Everyone you meet at Gate Night is an actor, a writer, a photographer, a musician, an artist. They use impressive vocabulary punctuated by instant messenger-bred slang. They know things. Literature, music, technology and politics – the conversations run the gamut and opinions fly. Sometimes, I feel set apart. I haven’t read that book. I only know enough about my computer to make it work. I am, to my own shame, somewhat apolitical. And when the group is large and conversation loud and animated, it can feel like a segment from Sesame Street.
One of these things is not like the others…
It happens very rarely, but it makes me uncomfortable. And tired. So I excuse myself and trek back to the subway, some very unhip music in my headphones. It gives me some time to think about my place – what I do, who I am. Where I am.
I decide that New York is the Epicenter of Interesting. We flock here to lead lives we consider improved over the ones we’d have had in Dallas or San Clemente or Kansas City — just being here makes us feel important and part of something bigger and fundamentally worthy. And maybe that’s why once we get here, we stop looking up. Because if we look up, like the sidewalk-clogging, gaping-mouthed tourists, we get reminded of our size. Of our relative unimportance in the grand scheme of things.
The tourists are awed by it. We are chastised by it.
It’s a lesson that the city has taken out its willow reed to teach me – or maybe Life itself has – and lately, it’s been harder for me to accept. I don’t like feeling unimportant. Relatively or otherwise. It makes me uncomfortable and tired.
nice post
Cheers girlfriend — welcome to the real world. You are important – you are special. Keep the faith.
That’s an incredibly insightful post. I think everyone goes through moments when we feel inadequate.
Don’t worry. I haven’t read that book either, and though I live in Miami, and not NYC, I feel the same way sometimes.
Gate Night sounds like it was fun, despite the anxieties that photo galleries bring.
You’re gorgeous, Fishie. Don’t let anyone–even yourself–tell you otherwise.
Oh, I have been there more times that I would care to admit! But just know that you are important to all of us out here in cyberspace!
fantastic. you pegged it.
this is why I haven’t had the nerve to attend any of the DC blogfests. the political minds. the super-literate. all I have to offer is backwater kitsch.
i have my moments of inadequacy, too. sometimes weeks. coincidentally enough, i’ve been in one of those slumps since i left gate night, too, though for different reasons, i’m guessing. i don’t like feeling small and defeated.
you write gracefully about it, though.
ps: the jumping squirrel.
I think that’s why I’ve always liked San Francisco. (as far as big cities go) I has that same feel. It’s ‘hip’ it’s cool, it’s svelte. You are part of ‘something’ because after all, you live in ‘the city’. And yet, the entire place sits on 49 square miles. It has this way of wrapping it’s arms around you and making you feel as if you and she are intimate somehow.
And there I go, waxing on, on YOUR blog. Sorry!
clearly not sorry enough to go back and erase it tho?
that really does look like a jumping squirrel!
i wanted to thank you for your blog. everyday i come and read, and you make me see the splendor there is in life. whether you write about the good or bad, it is always beautiful.
OK. Having been reading without commenting for a week or so, I’m taking the plunge. You’ve hooked me with your writing. As for your feelings on NY, I understand, completely. It strikes me differently though. Having lived there for the last 7 years, and in the general vicinity for all but the 4 years I went to college, I’m getting tired of it. Not because it makes me feel small or unimportant, intellectually, culturally or otherwise. A lot of it just seems increasngly like pretense. I’ve always known I didn’t want to live there (I can’t say “here,” because I’m not there now) my whole life. I think I was waiting for an excuse in the form of getting married etc. and wanting to find someplace better to raise a family. Not there yet,and not sure I can wait much longer.
Maybe I’ll submit my application from the sidebar before I leave.
bravo.
what a beautiful post. the truth within it; the truth i ignore, or at least, suffocate with those that blindly percieve self-importance, so very enjoyable to read from a thought process not my own.
Ah. Beautiful beautiful beautiful writing. I’ve been sitting here transfixed by your words, reading post after post. Everything you have to say is so very right it hurts my eyes.
Do you realize how much men love you, kiddo?
I can only speak for myself, but as a tribe member who once had similar feelings of anxiety at places like the Gate, I believe it’s all in your head. everyone speaks very highly of you. I, for one, think your beautiful, fabulous times infiniti, and one of the people who makes my city the Epicenter of Interesting. I’m glad you’re around and I hope I never make you feel out of place or tired
Hi, I read your blog from time to time and this entry really struck a chord with me. I, too, migrated to the big city (DC, in my case) and have been overwhelmed by how insignificant and ignorant I sometimes feel compared to everyone else. It’s reassuring to know that I’m probably not the only one feeling that way!